


So Long And Goodnight

by Phanwich



Category: Original Work
Genre: And I'm very sorry about this whole thing, Based on a My Chemical Romance Song, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, My Chemical Romance References, Oh My God, this is why my parents think I'm nuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 14:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12633390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phanwich/pseuds/Phanwich
Summary: Dark hair. Pale skin.Deathly pale, but that's to be expected.She is, after all, just that.Dead.~~~There's no summary that can make this work seem any better okay I'm sorry





	So Long And Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> A story I wrote last year whilst I was on crazy medications, sleep deprived, two weeks free from a mental hospital, and listening to My Chemical Romance.
> 
> You think I'm kidding, but I had been awake for the past 48 hours and had missed two doses of the antidepressants I had been on for two months because they were changing them. (Don't do that even if you shouldn't have been on them in the first place; it causes problems. Ask Daniel Howell; he knows.)
> 
> This was also the first story I wrote after I disappeared from the Archive last year, around December, so I was a bit rusty.
> 
> If you ever feel bad about your own writing, read this and cheer up- I was way worse.

The boy quietly stared at the dark haired girl. She looked almost beautiful- certainly peaceful- with her eyes closed, black hair flawlessly done, hands folded over her chest, skin as pale as death.

That was, of course, to be expected- she was just that. 

Dead. 

He looked away from her, eyes catching the vase of flowers set up beside her. He took a deep breath and placed his hands on the edge of the coffin. 

"What's the worst thing I can say?" he mumbled, biting his lip as he noticed his own hands were just as pale- if not more so- than her's. He sighed, shaking his hair from his eyes. "Helena, so long and good night." 

"Okay, that's enough," a woman the boy didn't know chided. "Let other people pay their respects, too." Nodding, he slowly walked back to his seat, her name swimming through his ears, again and again. 

Helena. Helena. Helena. 

\--- 

"I'm sorry," Helena apologized, giggling softly as she watched the boy wipe the cream from the crepe she'd been trying to share off his cheek. He laughed, wiping it off his hand and on to her nose. "Oh, gross! Michael!" 

"Sorry, not sorry," he teased. "So why'd you call me last night in hysterics, exactly? I couldn't understand anything you said." 

"Oh, that," Helena sighed. "It's nothing, really." Michael raised an eyebrow, but didn't press the matter further. 

"Alright." An awkward pause followed, and the couple started laughing- the kind of laugh that only occurs when you're sharing something with someone who means the world to you. 

"So how's your guitar class going?" Helena asked in an attempt to break the ice. Michael shrugged. 

"Fine. How's your piano?" he returned. 

"It's going well," the girl answered, her black hair falling into her eyes. "Why?" 

"I was just wondering," Michael answered slowly, noticing the defensive look on Helena's face. "You asked about my guitar; why can't I ask about your piano?" 

"I didn't say you couldn't," Helena replied, brushing her hair back. "You usually don't, though."

Micheal bit his lip- she was right. He never asked her about herself. Aside from basic trivia, how well did he really know her? 

"Not at all," Helena muttered. "You don't know me at all." 

\---

A pair of dark brown eyes caught another in the mirror's reflection. Helena took a deep breath, applying a coat of lipstick. Picking up a thin sheet of paper, she walked to her room and selected her best dress. 

Completely black with a flared skirt and red around the collar and sleeves, this dress had always been one of Helena's favourites, and it would be the last thing she wore. 

Placing the paper on the bedside table, where her parents were sure to find it, Helena laid down on the bed, her shaking hands finding a bottle of pills. She opened it, pouring the contents into her hand. It was only seven at most, but she knew it was enough. 

"Well, then," she breathed, staring at the small white pills. "This is it." 

And she swallowed them. 

"Good night." 

\--- 

Michael picked up the short note that had been left in an envelope for him, reading it again. 

"It was all your fault." 

"Would everyone please bow their heads as we pray for Helena's family?" called the priest. Everyone did as requested- except Michael. His eyes never left Helena's coffin. 

"So long and good night," he heard, the words echoing softly through the room. He looked around for the voice, but couldn't find the culprit. "What's the worst thing I can say? So long and good night." A shiver of fear went down his spine, the voice a perfect imitation of Helena's. "A life for a life, right?" 

"What?" Michael whispered softly, his voice barely audible. 

"Shh!" a woman hissed. 

"Just like a match you start to incinerate, the lives of every one you knew..." The words faded out, and then the sound was right there, clear as day. "Well, I've been holding on tonight." Michael froze. 

"Helena?" he asked. 

"So long and good night," she whispered, lips brushing his ear with each word. A smile spread over her lips as the boy gasped. 

A sudden pain ripped through his body, and he cried out. No one seemed to hear a thing. 

"Helena!" Michael screamed. "Y-you-" 

"And we all..." the girl started softly. Michael groaned, coughing up blood. 

"W-what are you d-doing?" Michael gasped. 

"Fall..." He collapsed onto the ground, fingers twitching slightly as the blood pooled around him. 

"Down," Helena finished as Michael stopped moving. She leaned down and gently kissed his cheek. "So long and good night, my love." 

\--- 

A scream pierced through the funeral service, the sound bordering on hysteria. 

"H-he's d-d-dead!" Michael's mother screamed, running to her son. She held him close to her, ignoring the blood staining her dress and skin. 

"Yes, we have a boy, dead, age 17," a man told the 999 operator. He quickly gave the address before hanging up. 

\--- 

His eyes shot open, chest heaving as he gasped for air. There was nothing but white. 

"Is this..." He didn't dare finish the sentence, but the effect was the same. He stepped forward, and immediately he was falling, a sinister laugh echoing around him as he fell, hands reaching for something, anything. 

And then there was nothing and everything at once. 

\--- 

The murder of Michael Brawner weighed heavily on each person that had attended Helena Wade's funeral. The official cause was still undetermined, but there was no physical trauma, nor underlying medical conditions. 

The police questioned everyone that knew the boy or the girl, as well as everyone there, and no one had seen or heard a thing. One person, however, recalled hearing a simple phrase floating softly in the air. 

"So long and good night."

**Author's Note:**

> And scene.
> 
> ~Phanwich


End file.
